


Goddamn Neat Freaks

by SeductiveToaste



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fighting, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Vulgar Language, pain fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeductiveToaste/pseuds/SeductiveToaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come on, hit me,” he pleads in an authoritative tone. “I want you to do it. Pull my hair, call me names, pin me down.”</p><p>"Fuck me, you son of a bitch."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goddamn Neat Freaks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnightsnack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightsnack/gifts).



> Written as a gift for my beta, midnightsnack.

“Frank! What the fuck is this?!”

Frank looks up with a quick snap of his head. His fingers still on the keyboard of his laptop, the gory game in front of him sending up muted screams. He taps escape swiftly and rolls off his bed with a groan. What the hell does Gerard want _now?_

He had shared the small apartment with Gerard for around four months now. They both needed help with the rent, both working low paying, part-time jobs to keep themselves afloat while they slogged through college. It had certainly seemed like a good idea when Gerard had first proposed it as they drank dirt-cheap beers at a local, forgettable bar. Frank and Gerard had been best friends since middle school and got along exceptionally well.

It wasn’t until about one month in that Gerard began becoming fed up with Frank’s small messes and general untidiness. Frank tried to be a neat person, but his forgetfulness usually overcame him at his worst moments, instead directing him to play online games rather than place his bowl in the dishwasher. It couldn’t all be blamed on Frank: Gerard had proved himself to be a compulsive neat-freak with rigid rules. The more Gerard berated Frank about his scattered coffee mugs and abandoned towels, the more Frank became obstinate and stubborn about cleanliness. 

Their fights over these isolated incidents had recently become so common that Frank’s routine had quickly settled into coming home from work, doing the minimal amount of studying necessary to pass his classes, eating, and then playing violent video games until Gerard came home and yelled at him about a cup that had been abandoned in the sink or something equally ridiculous. Being shouted at on an almost daily basis had strung out Frank’s patience and nerves, making him tense, like a rubber band about to snap.

He scratches the front of his ratty tank-top as he pads out of his tiny room and out into the small kitchen/living room/dining room area. These thoughts weigh down on him as he feels resentfulness simmer deep in his stomach.

“What?” Frank calls back, a little snappier and louder than he had meant to. He can’t be blamed for being a bit on edge; having to deal with heaps of homework, a job he hates, _and_ a nit-picking bastard of a roommate aren’t exactly how he imagined spending his college years

Gerard’s elongated shadow stretches out from the bathroom door and across the dim living room. They tried not to turn on lights unless absolutely necessary. Frank shuffles his bare feet over to the open door, feeling like a student being called into the principal’s office. He probably left the cap off the toothpaste again...

Gerard stands in the middle of the bathroom, holding some vaguely repulsive thing between his thumb and forefinger. His bleached hair is cropped extremely short, practically glowing white, still damp from his recent shower. A pair of sweatpants hangs dangerously low on his hips. Jaw clenched tight with vicious intent, he stares down Frank with burning irritation that threatens to ignite into rage.

Frank squints at the disgusting thing. His mind shorts a bit as he struggles to place it, the memory gnawing at him as the dregs of his video game keeps it away. He recognizes it with a sickening twist to his gut. Shit.

“Why the _fuck_ is there a fucking pizza crust on the floor?” his voice shakes with fury, trembling like a heatwave over the desert.

He bristles a bit at Gerard’s tone. “I ate in the tub before you got home,” he says, and sticks his chin out defiantly. He had sworn he had cleaned up everything before losing himself in wave after wave of mind-numbing zombies. Obviously not. It was no use blaming Gerard either - for obvious reasons. The guy would rather lose his right arm than leave a towel on the floor, _god forbid._

Frank rests a hand on the doorframe, trying to figure out a way to defuse the situation. “Sorry, I thought I had cleaned everything up. Chill out.” 

“Chill out?” His eyes flash. “ _You ate in the fucking tub!_ We have a kitchen table for a reason, Frank! There are crumbs all over the goddamn floor! Are you that retarded?!”

The hand resting on the doorway turns into a fist. “Fuck you!” he hisses. He’s had more than enough of this endless cycle of petty insults and pointless fights. “I’m sorry I’m not fucking perfect, your highness! I thought I had everything cleaned up, ok? It won’t happen again!”

A long whoosh of breath escapes from Gerard’s nostrils as his anger flares visibly in his hazel eyes. “It’s not just the pizza crust, Frank! I’ve picked up your dishes from the living room, mopped the bathroom floor after you _flooded_ it with water-”

“One time,” Frank mutters sullenly. It’s not his fault the water for his bath last month ran over a _little._

“And I’ve even done your laundry after you put it off for the sixtieth time this month! It’s like you’re not even fucking trying!” He’s yelling now, waving his arms about and throwing the crust around with him. Frank flinches as a bit of repulsive crust-juice lands on his face.

“What do you want me to do? Spit-shine everything to fit your fucking impossible standards?” Frank doesn’t let Gerard speak. He’s on a roll now. “Oh, or maybe you want me to scrub the toilet with my toothbrush? What the hell is wrong with you! I pay _more_ than my fair share of rent and you expect me to be some sort of fucking maid?!”

“Bullshit!” Gerard roars. “I’m not asking you to be fucking perfect, I’m asking you to be at least decent! You pay ‘more than your fair share’? More bullshit! I’ve had to bail your poor-ass out more times than I care to count. It’s not that much of a fucking imposition to ask you to _clean up after yourself every once in awhile, goddamn it!”_ His face is red from shouting and a vein on his neck is noticeably throbbing.

“You know what?” Frank throws up his hands. Anger clouds his thoughts and makes it hard for him to think around the pulsing tumor of fury pounding behind his eyes. “I’m fucking done! You can have this apartment all to your fucking high and mighty self! I’m leaving! I’m not dealing with this shit anymore!”

He spins on his heels and takes exactly one step before he feels a rage-fueled hand clench around his bicep. “Oh, you’re not fucking going anywhere, you bastard!”

Frank’s brain short-circuits with outrage. He attempts to tug his arm out of Gerard’s grip but the taller male only tightens his grip, eyes shooting daggers down at him. 

“Let go of me, you psychopath!” Frank shouts. His fist connects with Gerard’s face before he can even think about it, heavy and satisfying. It cracks across his jaw with a rewarding thunk and Gerard lets go, stumbling back in surprise.

He rubs his jaw and his entire body visibly enters fighting-mode: muscles tensing, eyes narrowing, and fists clenching. “You little bitch,” he whispers, a deadly hiss that rasps through clamped teeth glued together by rage and pain.

A shoulder barrels into his chest before he can fully link the slight ache in his knuckles to Gerard. Frank goes flying out of the doorway with a pained ‘oomf’, tank top riding up as he skids across the cheap faux-wood floor. Their metal frame futon stops his slide as his head collides painfully with one of the legs. Holy shit, where did that strength come from?

He lies there for a moment, lungs sucking in air that isn’t there as his vision doubles and shifts. His tank top bunches up in Gerard’s fist and he’s suddenly yanked up, head spinning. Threads rip and tear as the fabric digs into his back irritatingly. Even more to his irritation, he is forced to stand on his tiptoes as Gerard holds him up to eye level. What the fuck is this, high school?

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he seethes, warm breath laced with coffee hitting Gerard’s face. “Let go of me!” He twists in his grip like a collared dog, both hands coming up to Gerard’s wrist to try and tear it away, but to no avail.

“Not until you apologize,” he says in a scarily calm voice. Frank notes with a grim satisfaction the large bruise blooming on Gerard’s jaw.

“Go fuck yourself,” he spits and drives a knee directly into Gerard’s crotch, the other man letting out a pained shout and dropping Frank instantly. The angle is awkward and he doesn’t put nearly as much force into the blow as he would have liked to, but the effect is just as satisfying. Gerard curves inward, groaning with pain.

Frank lands unsteadily, feet stumbling across the smooth floor. He rights himself and leers at Gerard. “Not so high and mighty now, are you?”

“You... wanna play dirty?” Gerard chokes out, still hunched over. “Then let’s play dirty.”

Frank braces himself as Gerard rushes headlong at him, a veritable freight train of fury and muscle. He slips to the side at the last moment, forcing Gerard to collide directly with the futon. Gerard rolls with his momentum and flips over the couch, crashing into the coffee table and breaking several coffee mugs.

Launching himself over the couch, he tackles Gerard in a messy tangle of limbs and insults. He cuts his palm on a vindictive shard of ceramic as he secures Gerard’s wrists, pinning one with his hand and the other one with his knee. He manages to land one punch to Gerard’s nose before being thrown off by a powerful roll of his body.

Gerard is on him in an instant, bleeding nose and beyond furious eyes barely an inch away from him. His forearm is pressed tight against Frank’s throat, the other hand tangled in his hair. The hand in his hair pulls mercilessly as the forearm presses down, cutting off Frank’s airstream and making his eyes water. He can vaguely feel Gerard’s thighs bracketing his lower torso and hot breath against his face.

Before he can choke it down, a weak moan escapes from his lips. His eyes go back and he can feel himself hardening. His mind briefly wonders why being pinned down, choked, and having his hair pulled by his best friend is turning him the fuck on. It then promptly stops thinking much of anything as Gerard abruptly collides his face into Frank’s.

To call it a kiss would be hideously inaccurate; their noses bump together painfully, their teeth scrape and bite, and their lips press together with the same furious intensity as their fight.

His hips buck up of their own accord, seeking friction that’s not there. In the next instant the bruising pressure of Gerard’s arm and mouth disappears, leaving a very confused and turned-on Frank behind on the floor.

He rolls his tongue around in his mouth, tasting blood oozing from his swollen lower lip. Sitting up quickly, he spots Gerard sitting across from him, shocked expression on his flushed face.

“What the hell did you stop for, bastard?” Frank says in something approaching a low growl, throat sore. His skin hums with the dregs of his anger and his nerves fire wildly with arousal.

The congealed blood above Gerard’s lips glistens wetly underneath a thin veil of sweat. He parts his lips to speak, licking them as he does so. The last shred of his self-control gone, Frank throws himself at the man with a grunt of frustration, knocking him over and pinning his upper body down underneath his spread thighs.

“Not man enough to finish what you started?” Frank taunts, hoping to draw out whatever he had awakened in Gerard. Gerard’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t move except to open his mouth to speak. Frank interrupts him for a second time. His voice is low and heady with unfiltered rage-turned-lust.

“Come on, _hit me,_ ” he pleads in an authoritative tone. “I want you to do it. Pull my hair, call me names, pin me down.” His palms slam down on either side of Gerard’s face as he leans down, face hovering barely out of reach. 

“Fuck me, you son of a bitch,” he says in a raw whisper, entire body thrumming for it.

The next moment is a confusing jumble of limbs and sweat and unexpected force. It ends with Frank’s head slamming against the floor, arms pinned above his head by Gerard’s surprisingly powerful grip as equally strong legs immobilize his hips. Frank moans shamelessly at the sensation, fruitlessly attempting to buck up.

Holding both his wrists in one hand, Gerard wraps his fingers around the collar of Frank’s tank top before ripping down in a single, continuous motion. It separates in a cacophony of tearing threads and Frank groans. A set of blunt, bruising teeth dig into the smooth curve connecting neck to shoulder. Frank’s back arches as he lets out another wanton cry, pressing into the delicious throbbing. The adrenaline from the fight and physical pain mixes intoxicatingly with his almost unbearable arousal and he moans once more as the teeth move to his chest.

“Aha,” he pants, face florid as he squirms underneath Gerard. “Thats more, ha, like it...”

Nails scape down his side, leaving behind beads of blood in their wake. “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Gerard growls, the tone and words going straight to Frank’s dick. “Tired of your talking.”

Before Frank can come up with a suitable witty retort, he’s being flipped onto his stomach, gasping as his chest comes into contact with the chilly floor. He feels the remnants of his tank top tear away from his back with a grunt from Gerard. The ruined tank top is quickly put to work tying Frank’s wrists together over his head as his hips are yanked up and pajama pants pushed down - along with his boxers - down to his knees.

He balances precariously on his knees and elbows, panting harshly as his legs are forced apart. He doesn’t even get a moment to breath before Gerard’s finger is entering him, slick with spit.

Frank lets out a rather embarrassing keening noise, not even able to press back as Gerard holds his hip still in a punishing grip. His back arches as another finger joins the first one, spreading and stretching in an almost unbearable burn. Teeth scrape across his lower back, leaving behind red trails of irritated skin.

“Fucking hell,” he curses, slipping a bit once the third finger breaches him. They move unbearably slowly and Frank can feel his skin buzzing with anticipation. He nearly sobs when the fingers find that certain spot deep inside him, throwing up stars in front of his eyes and shivers down his spine.

“Get inside me,” he grits through closed teeth, eyes screwed shut. “Right the fuck now.”

The only acknowledgement Gerard gives him is to remove his torturous fingers and rake down the inside of Frank’s thigh. Frank breathes heavily through flared nostrils as Gerard seizes his hips in a cruel grip, plotting out future bruises with his fingers.

His fingers uselessly claw at the ground as Gerard enters him in one smooth thrust, his deep groan an undercurrent to Frank’s wordless cry of pain and pleasure. The ache is sharp and persistent over the heady pleasure, the opposites once again making Frank’s head spin.

Gerard sets a brutal pace almost at once, removing one hand from Frank’s pelvis to balance himself over him. His chest barely touches the other’s back as he bites sloppily at Frank’s shoulder, leaving lasting marks.

Frank barely knows which sensation to focus on; everything seems to overwhelm him at once and clamor for his attention, leaving his head reeling, his heart pounding, and his skin burning. He lets out strange mixes of moans and curses which, as Gerard doesn’t even pause in his thrusts, become more and more nonsensical.

“Jesus motherfucking Christ,” he keens, feeling the skin on his knees begin to ache as they rub against the unforgiving floor. His arms burn with the pressure of holding himself - and part of Gerard - up. His eyes roll back in his head as Gerard finds his prostate, now hitting it on every other thrust. 

Senseless babbles escape from his mouth as he feels himself approaching climax, the pool of heat in his stomach building to unbearable pressure. He presses back insistently into every thrust, occasional begs for more leaving his lips. 

A hand winds into hair and pulls hard, forcing his head back and tears to appear in Frank’s eyes. Those same relentless teeth scrape down the curve of his throat as his thrusts begin to become more and more erratic. He comes hard in Frank, burying himself deep within him and biting down hard on his throat. A much-needed hand wraps around Frank’s cock, almost as an afterthought. Frank feels the skin break as Gerard clamps down tighter, lost in the throes of his orgasm.

And with that Frank is gone, Gerard’s name tearing out of his throat in mindless release as his spine curves and his hips buck forwards. His vision whites out and his fingernails dig into his palms, drawing more blood.

They’re both completely still for a moment, the only sound in the apartment their desperate breathing. Gerard’s hand lays limp on Frank’s hip and his nose tickles against his earlobe. Frank’s head lies buried between his forearms, panting loudly.

Gerard is the first to speak. “Wow,” he breathes.

The word is such an understatement, Frank can’t help but laugh. “Admit it, Gee. I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had,” he says, reveling in the screamed-out, shot quality of his voice.

Gerard only snorts into his neck and pulls out, levering himself off of Frank. Frank collapses to the side, barely avoiding landing in a puddle of his own cum. He rolls onto his back, just catching the back of Gerard’s thighs as he pulls his sweatpants back up. 

With a few twists of those artist fingers, Frank’s arms are free. They immediately wrap around Gerard’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. Frank’s everything hurts everywhere and he knows for an absolute fact that he’s not going to be able to walk to bed.

“Help me up, motherfucker,” he murmurs, feeling his eyes beginning to close with exhaustion.

“Aw, is little Frankie tired?” Gerard coos, wrapping an arm around Frank’s lower back and painstakingly helping him to his feet. Frank growls and yelps with pain at the same time, stumbling into Gerard’s chest as his legs threaten to give out. He pulls up his pants with as much dignity as he can muster.

“Excuse me for wanting to sleep after rough sex,” Frank says with half-hearted vindictiveness. “Like you’re not a dead man walking after that.”

Gerard only smiles as he helps Frank into his room - Frank only has a twin bed in his own - and lets him collapse onto his bed. Frank winces and rolls over onto his stomach. His knees burn, his ass aches, his lower back throbs in pain, and he’s sore just about everywhere else. Perfect.

He blearily notes Gerard leaving the room but he can’t muster the energy to care. He mashes his head deep into the vaguely-Gerard-smelling pillow and feels himself begin to drift off.

Right before he surrenders himself to sleep, he feels the bed dip as Gerard crawls in next to him. He yanks the blankets out from underneath Frank and pulls the red comforter up and over them.

Frank wearily flops his torso over to Gerard until his face is smushed contentedly in Gerard’s neck, half-laying on top of him. Gerard’s hand comes up to rest on his still damp back, the easy rise and fall of his chest lulling Frank to sleep.

“I should eat in the bath more often,” Frank mutters before floating off into dreamless unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ^-^


End file.
